And It All Comes Together
by Starlit Anabelle
Summary: It all started nearly a century ago. A pair of brothers in conflict, splitting a single family into two. An apocalypse that failed before it began, all minds erased in result and a conspiracy of its revival stretching decades. The Avengers: brought together by chance, fate, or something more? Lives entangle in the buildup to the inevitable, and together their stories are woven...
1. Walking Through the Fields of Gold

Author's Note-Hi guys, Starlit Anabelle here, or as you might know me on NaNoWriMo, Bridget McTavish, here with my (winning!) fic 'Light of the Frozen Star Prelude' aka 'And It All Comes Together'. So a couple friends and I are roleplaying and working on a fanfic called Light of the Frozen Star, and hopefully I will get that out and onto here _eventually_. But in the meantime, here's a collection of fics that lead up to that story. Please note that this is a work in progress and I'm not doing all of it chronologically (although certainly trying whenever and wherever I can manage), so as I continue to add on to this fic, I may decide to go back and squeeze another part into the timeline. So keep an eye on those chapters and on the dates, because things might end up being shuffled around a little bit here and there.

As a note to the events in this particular chapter, I'm a major Irish history buff, so please excuse me while I geek out for a second with explanation. Feel free to skip it if you wish, but it does help to clarify just a little bit.

As it so happens, Steve Rogers happens to be first generation American, while his parents-or his father, at least-happens to be Irish. As the period coincides with one of the most tense and turbulent times in Ireland's recent history to date, it does cover the Dublin Lockout. Let's just say, in the shorthand, that there's been a _lot_ of reasons Ireland and the UK didn't get along. In this particular instance, at the time, the economy in Ireland was absolutely terrible. Wages were driven down to the extreme as there were many people in Ireland looking for work. Many people decided to try and strike in order to protest these low wages and terrible working conditions, but as a result, many business and factory owners shut their doors and locked out the protesters. These owners won out in the end, with a result of civilian arrest, injury and even a few casualties thanks to strike breakers who would come and try to break up the protests. A number of former workers were also blacklisted from many companies due to their involvement in the protests, which is an issue that comes to mention in this fic. Ultimately, this was all pretty terrible as it further seeded the already-growing discontent in Ireland, a sentiment that wasn't at all helped by the fact that a Home Rule bill was looking at being overlooked for the _third_ time.

-clears throat- Anyway. With that little blurb of history geekitude, strap in because we're about to start weaving this universe together in three...two...

* * *

-1913-

This story begins, like many stories, with two brothers.

 _Slam!_

More specifically, with the turbulence of two brothers.

"You can't be fecking serious, Cathal, you can't!"

Raised voices. The tiny Dublin duplex was still rattling a bit from the force of the slammed door. An older man-Donal Rogers-looked up from some paperwork he was doing at the table in the back of the kitchen, closest to the fireplace-likely some sort of rent issue or another, property costs were getting higher while wages were being driven down lower all the time. The duplex was mostly dim, lit mainly by the fire that crackled and snapped behind the older man.

"You see? This is why I hesitated in telling you, Joseph. I knew you were going to lose your head!" The younger brother said, eyeing the older one with exasperated but worried green eyes.

"And why _wouldn't_ I? She's an Englishwoman! Have you been paying any bleeding attention to what's been in the papers lately? To what's been going on before our very eyes?!"

"Yes, yes, the lockout and the beatings and…the blacklists-but Ida has nothing to do with that! She can't help her nationality!"

"But her father's Edward Winchester. Right? I've heard of him, he's a lieutenant of the British Army. Cathal-he would show up here in Dublin to arrest and murder me, you, our whole damn family for just a few pounds added to his paycheck, just as they did to god knows how many civilians during the Lockout, just like Nolan and Byrne and Brady!"

"Her father's not like that! Not all of the English people are like that-and who are you one to talk anyway?! Going around, talking like some member of the Irish Citizen Army all loyal to the 'Irish cause' when really we all know you're just running off to America like a coward to lick your wounds!"

The younger brother barely had a chance to finish his words as his head snapped to the side at the punch, and when he turned his head again, he could see the rage etched across his brother's features.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ call me a coward! I was the one who was sent off to some in a Welsh prison fighting for what's _right_ while you were off in London making doe eyes at some Anglo bitch-!"

Cathal reached over to grab Joseph's shirt, glaring daggers. "Don't you ever talk about Ida that way-!"

"Boys!" The father finally said loudly, moving to wearily rise from his seat with a sigh. Making his way around the table and over to the two as Cathal released his brother, he looked from one to the other before his eyes rested on Cathal. "That's enough. Joseph is right-"

"What-?!"

"All those months in a Welsh prison standing up for a cause we can all believe in- he's paid his dues. Overpaid, in fact, considering he's been blacklisted from working at most companies since. Not that I would be too supportive of his choice for immigration…" He glanced over at Joseph with a look, causing the older brother's anger and conviction to falter for just a couple of seconds, but then returned his eyes to Cathal. "But it's better than him being a bum. And things are only going to become more violent here."

"He only got thrown into prison and blacklisted because he decided to pick a fight with one of the strike breakers! That wasn't necessary, plenty of workers got accepted back into their companies," Cathal pleaded, but they all knew what was already beginning to show in his eyes: he wasn't going to win this argument. Maybe against Joseph, but not against their father. "What Joseph did wasn't the noble act of a patriot fighting for a cause, it was the act of a few drinks and a short temper-!"

"Regardless, this argument isn't about _me_!" Joseph added, with a particular quickness, Cathal noticed. Well, fine. Point taken, this argument _wasn't_ about Joseph's leaving, it never was. No, this was about himself and Ida.

Turning back to their father, he shook his head. "Ida is a good and decent woman and she comes from a good and decent family. A family that's _accepting_ of me, despite who I am and where I'm from, despite that I'm of an Irish family of low prestige. They're even willing to provide me with work in their family business! Why can't the two of you follow in their example?"

Their father looked over at him with judging hazel eyes. "Because we're not like them. We are not traitors to our nation-"

"Our nation is their nation! Are we not all a part of the United Kingdom?" Cathal questioned, but all hope was becoming fainter and fainter. He wasn't going to win this one…

…But he wasn't going to leave Ida, either…

"The way things are going? As long as we are a part of the United Kingdom, we will always be second-class citizens," their father replied. "And if you wish to be Anglo, then so be it. Walk like them, talk like them, play your games of pretend. Even _marry_ one of them. But never expect to be welcomed back here. Englishmen bear no welcome in my house."

Cathal blinked a few times, staring at the two for a moment. Joseph looked almost just as shocked as he was, but was quickly (with some struggle) hiding it in the presence of their father. Of course. Daddy's 'good' son.

"…Fine," Cathal finally replied as his expression grew stony, a bitter note to his voice as he turned away and headed to his room. "I'll get my things. Rest assured ye will not be bothered by my treasonous presence again."

* * *

Author's Note-And here we've kicked off our story and it only takes off rocketing through time from here (and with more cannon characters, promise). Please drop me a review, flames will be used for holy oil as I trap any angels attempting to stop me from unveiling their growing conspiracy. Until the next update~!


	2. In the Distance Bombs Can Fall

Author's Note-I'm back~ So we're finally starting to bring in some canon characters into the mix with this chapter. I've got a couple other tiny portions that I was gonna add to this fic, but as they include some substantial jumps in time and the formatting just felt kind of…weird…I'm gonna go ahead and release each of them as separate chapters over the course of the week. Just a reminder though, this fic is still in the works and while I am doing my best to write this all up chronologically, there are times when I don't and/or have a section I decided to omit for some major editing and/or expansion. I do want to try and keep the format as chronological as possible though, so a new chapter might end up being squeezed in between a couple of old ones. So be sure to go back and check those chapters as this fic gets updated-I'll make a mention of it in the author's note if this ends up happening at any point in time. As a disclaimer, I don't own the MCU and Supernatural-obviously-but an author can dream, right?

All that out of the way, back to weaving these two universes together in three…two…

* * *

-March 16, 1944-

It was damp, cool and dark with mist hanging low to the ground. More so, it was quiet, almost to an unusual degree. In other words, miserable with a side of eerie. Commonplace, though. For the men hiding outside in the woods, razor-sharp focus on their mission, they had become used to this, especially after a couple of days of recon.

"Alright everyone, again, this is pretty straightforward. We go in, we grab the captives, we get them out safely. Captives are non-combative, so they're definitely going to need their evacuation to be as swift as possible," the leader instructed, tugging the coat closed over his bright, spangley outfit. "All that said, we need to keep this quiet. No shots fired unless necessary-we don't want to draw more attention to the outside patrols. We've got…" He glanced down at his watch. "A fifteen minute interval before the patrol loops back around." He glanced back up at the dimly lit cabin as a small group headed out into the winter night. "Starting now." He waited until the patrol group had mostly disappeared amongst the trees. "Let's move out."

The men in the rescue party nodded, moving swiftly and silently through the forest and making their way to the small, lone cabin, occasionally ducking into brush or trees when one of the captors within the cabin seemed to be eyeing the windows in their direction. Things got trickier when they got closer; the captors weren't dumb, after all. Guards posted at the doors, of course, several stationed in various locations several feet away from the cabin. Truth told, this was as optimal as the mission was going to get. The captives inside were currently in the middle of transport to a location they hadn't been able to pin down-but they were certain the end location was going to be far more heavily guarded. And while they could probably manage to handle such a thing, especially with their leader amongst them, this was the best way to guarantee the safest rescue for the captives and the most minimal casualties.

The guards several feet away were taken out one by one in muffled silence with little more than a few snaps of twigs, occasionally the crack of a rifle butt against a skull. It wasn't long before the group made it in close to the door, and more than one of the soldiers couldn't help but wince when they heard a scream from inside the cabin pierce through the quiet.

Their leader glancing back at them, he made a gesture to head on forward.

* * *

"There is no use playing dumb," the commander said in heavily-accented English as he circled the man tied to the chair. "We know who you are and what you dabble with on a regular basis, compliments of our affiliates in the Thule." Coming to a stop in front of the bleeding man to cast a quick glance to the other two tied up, he pulled from his pocket a silver pocket watch that was adorned with a six-point star. "You should know better than to run around with obvious markers to such a secret organization."

"Wouldn't be so obvious to anyone else," the man tied to the chair remarked, voice laced with a British accent. "I'm telling you, we don't know and we definitely don't have it. But even if we did, I'd simply tell you to go bugger off-" The man's words fell short as his head snapped to the side from a punch to the jaw. He cringed, then spat out a bit of blood-and a tooth along with it.

"You know, I would start talking if I were you," the commander said, crouching slightly to get more level with the prisoner. "I am not saying that we are going easy on you here, but once we get to base, we will have the time and the tools to become far more…creative…in getting the information out of you-"

"Yes, and I'm not lying, we _really don't_ have the information you seek. And even if we did, we don't work with Nazis. So why don't you release us, run along before anyone gets hurt here, hm?" The brunette glared up at the commander.

"So far the only ones hurt are you and your companions. And from what I have learned of your sort, your organization is generally pacifist. Foolish, considering the knowledge that you all guard," the commander said as he walked over to an open case sitting on the desk nearby. It didn't take him much time to select a knife and look it over, checking the sharpness of the blade before turning back to the man. "Even if you do not have the knowledge we are seeking, there is plenty else you know that could be of benefit to our cause." Stopping in front of him and resting the edge blade over the man's pinky finger, he continued, "Start talking. Or I will begin to dismember you piece by piece."

Glancing over at his two captured associates for a brief moment, he closed green eyes and sucked in a deep breath before opening them again and looking back at the commander with a slight tilt of his head. As he spoke, he looked the commander dead in the eyes. "As I said before: we do not work with Nazis. You, Commander Bleier, can kiss my ar-"

Sudden blinding pain. The man doubled over as much as he could while tied up and did his best to muffle his scream, for the sake of the other two nearby, god he tried-but that was understandably difficult as his pinky was separated from the rest of his hand.

Well. At least it covered the sound of the dull, wet thud of his pinky dropping to the wooden floor.

"Let us try this again," Commander Bleier said, lifting the knife in front of the panting man's face as the light glinted off of the steel and red blood coating it. "I will even give you a starting point to go off of: where is your organization storing all of these mystical items of theirs?" When the man didn't answer, the commander shook his head. "Are you married? Do you ever intend to be?" Lowering the blade back down to the man's hand, the sharp edge over his ring finger, he continued, "Such a shame that you will have to explain to your libeling about why you are unable to wear a wedding ring-"

"Oh, just belt up…" the man panted. "You may as well end this now-none of us are going to talk. You knew that from the very beginning."

"Not always," Commander Bleier replied. "People are often nowhere near as strong as you seem to believe. All you have to do is apply the right amount of pressure…" The blade began to sink a bit further into the skin, causing the man to grunt in pain and struggle a bit. "To the right points. Locations. Begin speaking."

The man stared for a moment and swallowed, opening his mouth for a second-when suddenly whatever he was about to say was cut off by the sound of cries and thuds from outside, as well as a couple words of alarm in German. The few other officers in the room immediately rose in alarm, grabbing their weapons, while the tied-up man pursed his lips as the commander pulled out a gun and lifted it to his head, clicking off the safety. There was a long pause of silence, finally broken by the commander calling out, "You may as well step inside and surrender. Otherwise the prisoners you are here to save are going to start dying one by one. They have proven themselves to be useless to us anyway…"

The man in the chair glanced over at his comrades for a moment-then up at the commander holding the gun, whose eyes were fixated on the door. Sucking in a deep breath, the man suddenly moved to his feet, quickly twisting awkwardly around to swing the chair at the commander. The commander fired, but the shot went wild. The door swung open, a man stepping inside with a red, white and blue shield in hand as a few other men rushed inside past him. A couple of the men helped up his companions and hurried them outside-another one coming back inside to help untie him as well.

"Thanks…" the man breathed as his arms were unbound from the chair and he hurried to grab up his pinky as well as several books and miscellaneous items on the nearby desk. The soldier with him gave him a bit of an incredulous look, but was patient enough to wait and hurried him along outside anyway once finished.

The commander meanwhile moved back to his feet, eyeing the spangled man. "Captain America…" He commented. "For them to send you on this rescue mission, perhaps our prisoners actually are valuable after all."

"Regardless of what they know, it's actually more of a personal favor," the spangled man replied, quickly moving forward and ducking behind his shield as a few gunshots were fired his way, then moving to quickly swing his shield around and disarm the commander, then again to knock him unconscious. The other officers in the room were dealt with just as quickly despite the several gunshots they fired, especially with two of the other Howling Commandos there to help him.

Heading outside, Steve, Jim and Jacques joined up with the other Howling Commandos and freed prisoners. "C'mon, we've gotta move. Patrol should probably be close by now and coming in faster after hearing those gunshots-" Steve instructed, starting to hurry the men along.

"Actually, slight problem over here," one of the newly-freed prisoners said, gesturing over to his companion, who was gripping his abdomen now that his hands were unbound. With a jolt, the man who'd been tied to the chair seemed to immediately realize where the bullet went after that wild shot that was originally meant for him. Regardless of any of the bravado he seemed to be showing before, a look of intense worry and guilt flickered across his face, but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

"…Shit," the man muttered, hurrying over to his companions despite his own injuries. "Liam?"

"Leave me," the injured companion muttered. There was no noticeable accent in this man's voice-this one was American. Not to mention he looked to be the youngest of the three, just barely into his twenties most likely. "Just go ahead and leave me, I'll slow them down."

"Not an option," the man countered automatically. The look of worry was definitely back, but even more noticeable was the stubbornness in his features.

Steve frowned, quickly making his way over to the freed prisoners. He was silently taking note of these interactions in the meantime, getting a gauge on each new man in the group and the power dynamic between them. "Liam?"

The shot man looked up at Steve as he heard his name. "Y-yeah?"

"Nobody's getting left behind. We're here to get you three out-that's exactly what we're going to do." Turning to the Howling Commandoes, Steve said, "Dugan, I want you to stay with-" He glanced over at the uninjured freed prisoner and the one now counting on base nine.

The one who now had no pinky on his left hand stepped forward. "Robert," he replied, sounding oddly calm for a man who'd just lost his finger but noticeably paler. He seemed to be doing his best to stem the bleeding by keeping his injured hand wrapped tightly in his shirt, granted-which was now also soaked through with blood-but it could really only do so much. Giving a nod to his uninjured companion, whom he seemed to have given most of the things he'd grabbed up off the desk to, he added, "And Lance."

"Robert and Lance," Steve finished. "Jones, Morita, I want you two with them. Falsworth, you'll stay with me and Liam." Turning back to Liam, he continued, "Liam, we're getting you out of here. Robert's right-leaving you guys behind isn't an option." As the others hurried along, he moved to help Liam onto his back, then gave a quick nod to Falsworth for them to follow. Not as quickly as he would've preferred, however-almost as soon as he did, he heard shouts of German from the returning patrol, far too close for comfort.

One gunshot rang out, then another, then another. But they didn't come from the patrol, no; these were from the direction they were headed in and aimed at the Nazi soldiers that tried to follow. Giving a quick glance around, Steve muttered something under his breath before shaking his head and hurrying after the rest of the Howling Commandos.

* * *

"How are they?" a familiar voice asked.

Steve looked over from one of the medics as he saw his old friend approach. Now back at camp and the sun beginning to rise, they could take it a little easier.

"A little bit of touch and go with Liam, but they'll live," he replied, watching as Bucky took off his sniper rifle. "Nice cover back there."

"Yeah, well you really think I was just gonna let you guys get shot?" Bucky asked, amused. Shaking his head, he glanced over at the medical tent. "Anyway, Stark said these guys were scientist buddies of his?"

"Yeah," Steve replied. "Didn't exactly specify in _what_ though. Whatever it is, HYDRA seems to be pretty interested."

"You're not kidding," Bucky replied with a slight sigh. "Think this could be connected to that incident that happened up north?"

"Could be, maybe," Steve replied, frowning a bit as he remembered some of the rumors he'd heard of what had gone down in Belarus. "On the other hand, could also be something of their own that ran amuck."

"Well we definitely know HYDRA's after the serum-"

"Which I'm afraid we don't really know anything about," a voice piped up as Robert stepped out of the medical tent, hand bandaged up. Looking from Steve to Bucky, he blinked. "I don't believe we've met…"

"Bucky Barnes," Bucky replied, offering a hand out, which Robert shook. He gave a nod to Steve. "And I'm sure you've already met Steve."

Robert blinked, looking back over at Steve. "Steve? Steve Rogers? As in Captain America?" Giving a once-over at the spangled uniform, he suddenly smirked. "I can believe it." Looking back at Bucky, he added, "And you were on the mission also?"

"Bucky's the one who gave us cover," Steve explained.

"Well, thanks for that. You've got some remarkable aim," Robert replied with a grin as he released Bucky's hand. "Robert Winchester."

"Winchester, huh?" Bucky glanced over at Steve.

Steve shrugged in return, then looked back over at Robert. "You got any idea as to why HYDRA would be after you guys? What kind of science do you do exactly?"

"Barely any, I'm afraid," Robert replied, looking somewhat sheepish. "Actually, the truth is, my comrades and I are more like glorified librarians-archaeologists at best. If they're after anything from the three of us…mythological weapons, perhaps?" He grinned and shook his head. "Which is complete and utter bonkers, considering such artifacts wouldn't even be real."

"Yeah, maybe," Steve replied, eyeing the Winchester with a hint of suspicion. They _had_ been hearing such rumors as of late-but how exactly did these guys tie in? Something this man wasn't mentioning, he was almost sure of it.

"They are starting to get rather desperate though, aren't they?" Robert continued quickly, seeming to pick up on the suspicion almost right away. "Although, I suppose with you on the Allied side…"

Steve chuckled slightly, noticing the quick change in subject, but saying nothing of it. "Hey, I'm just one guy. Everyone who signed up, everyone who's fighting and helping-they deserve the credit for how this war's been going."

"Yeah, Steve's just the guy who does the suicidal and dangerous stuff no one else will sign up for," Bucky added, smirking at Steve.

Robert grinned slightly and shook his head. "Regardless, it was you and your men who rescued us. I just wanted to thank you fellas for that much, at least."

"Yeah, well be sure to thank Stark, too. He was the one who let us know you guys were even in trouble." Steve glanced down at Robert's hand. "How's your hand?"

"Well…" Robert winced a little bit. "They're going to send me to a real hospital to see if the finger can be reattached. If not, I'm sure Stark can cook up some kind of weird thing for a replacement." His wince was replaced with a slight wry grin at the thought. "It'll all be sorted out, I'm sure."

"Well, good luck with making a swift recovery. To you and your friend," Bucky replied. "You guys are pretty tough for glorified librarians."

"Yeah, we were told you guys are generally non-combative," Steve added, raising an eyebrow. "But you were the one who knocked down that officer despite being tied to a chair _and_ losing your finger, weren't you?"

"Yes, well…he sort of had his back turned, more or less. And I had the adrenaline pumping at that point," Robert replied with a shrug. "Besides, I've always been a stubborn arse." Eyeing Steve, he suddenly smirked. "Guess it runs in the family."

Steve blinked a few times at the look, exchanging a questioning glance with Bucky, but was unable to ask for clarification as the librarian's attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere.

"Ah, well. Nice chatting with you boys. If you'll both excuse me…" Robert gave a small respectful nod to the two before stepping away, moving to join the approaching mustachioed man with a slight grin. "Howard."

"Robert," Howard greeted, turning to walk back away from the tent and to a less busy part of the camp, knowing the other man would follow.

"Of all the people you decided to send…" Robert remarked, shaking his head.

"He's a friend," Howard replied. "I _could've_ just kept quiet about it, not send anyone at all."

"Ah, we both know you wouldn't have done that," Robert replied. "You'd miss me too much. Besides, the last thing HYDRA needs are any of the Men of Letters as their prisoners, or any potential leads to the pantry Erskine borrowed from."

"Point," Howard replied, shaking his head with a slight roll of the eyes. Glancing over his shoulder to give one final look to Steve and Bucky, he then looked back at Robert. "You going to tell him?"

"Tell him what? That there's a whole part of his family that he doesn't even know about?" Robert asked, raising an eyebrow. "He didn't pick up on the name 'Winchester' even a little bit when I mentioned it-same with any of the hints I dropped." He shook his head. "No. Our fathers clearly burned that bridge down a long time ago, before either of us were even born. No real point in attempting to resurrect the ashes."

"That's a shame. His file notes he doesn't have any remaining family," Howard remarked.

"Probably for the best. Rogers is doing good work with the war. The last thing he needs are any sort of distractions, family included. Not to mention that he's sharper than he looks; I'd rather not go the extra mile to hide my secret affiliations, especially not from family."

"You could always try and get him an invite."

Robert scoffed. "My grandfather barely managed to get my father in, considering the circumstances of their relationship. You know how they are about legacies. Rogers definitely isn't one." He shrugged. "So anyways, this hand." He held up his injured hand. "What are the odds I'll ever be counting on base ten again?"

Eyeing it for a minute, Howard smirked. "If they can't reattach it, I'm sure I could replace it with something weird."

* * *

Author's Note-That does it for this chapter. I'll probably be updating with a couple short ones over the course of the week. Please drop me a review, it's highly appreciated and encouraging. Flames will be used to torch wendigo. Until the next update~!


	3. Boy We're Running Free

Author's Note-Hi guys, tons of thanks for the support I've gotten already. Just a note, I think I mentioned that there were going to be three parts posted this week...well I decided otherwise. There was a portion I was gonna put between this chapter and the last, but decided at the last minute that I was going to insert it at...some other point. Possibly some other story. It'll probably show up somewhere at sometime though, no worries. But hey, two out of three's still not bad, right? Chapter's pretty short, and as far as I've planned, this is the last little bit before it picks up into practically full-fledged fics set more so in modern day, which I've actually been debating on making into...separate stories, same universe? Should I just keep the short little bits here? Probably all gonna stay in this one fanfic but lemme know what you think regardless. Of course, disclaimer, I don't own the MCU but I can still put my dreams down on paper dangit.

Anyway.

Right, so! Weaving together the universes in three...two...

* * *

-1946-

The door swung open and a balding man in a suit stepped inside, eyes flickering around the fluorescent-lit lab of the base. A few men were in the process of sedating a man on a steel table, and considering who it was, the man in the suit would've been disappointed if he'd seen anything less. Giving the struggling lab rat a hint of amusement that pierced through his bored and somewhat reluctant expression, he made his way up the stairs and down the hall, finally reaching an office that he simply opened the door to and strolled in without warning.

The owner of the office, a blond man in his thirties or forties or so, stood at the window with his back to him, eyeing the Sokovian landscape.

"I sent escorts to lead you up here," the blond man said, back still to the balding man.

The balding man gave the blond a small smirk. "As soon as they came near me they were smitten. Really quite literally, I might add."

The blond shook his head and tsk'ed. "Zachariah," he said, turning to face the angel. "I should have known not to send some of my better lieutenants to come meet you. But it's futile attempting to impress an angel regardless of whoever I send, isn't it?" Yellow eyes sweeping over the doorway, he added, "And what? The placeholder king of heaven is too busy to come meet with the placeholder king of hell?"

"Too dignified to meet with the mutilated trash of insects," the angel replied. To this, the yellow-eyed demon raised his eyebrows, a look of amusement.

"Oh, but you're not. So unlike you to degrade yourself in such a way, Zachariah."

Zachariah's smile held in place, but it seemed to flicker just an ounce with eyes that narrowed with malice. "Don't push it, Azazel."

"Or what? You won't kill me," Azazel countered, smirking. "You _need_ me. That's why you're here, isn't it? Couldn't go throwing an apocalypse party without me."

Zachariah pursed his lips for a moment before shaking his head and turning away to pace before finally turning back to Azazel. "Be that as it may," he finally said. Not the best opening to a good counter, but for once he sort of wanted to skip the foreplay and stick to business. Contrary to what the demon king pointed out, even setting foot in a place like this- nevermind doing business with this trash-was beneath him. And besides, Michael _was_ counting on him. "That's actually what I'm here to discuss."

Azazel smirked. "We're not giving you little Stevie," he said. "He goes to _our_ father."

"Or _my_ ruling brother," Zachariah countered. "Whoever manages to sell it to him first."

"So Michael's not going to be picky with it then?" Azazel asked, finally walking over to a cabinet to grab a decanter of brandy and a couple tumblers. "Sounds very unlike him."

"We've gotten a glimpse into the future. Rogers is in a very unique position right now. Older than Michael's next potential vessel, but younger at the same time. If he doesn't say yes...it won't be perfect. But Rogers will fit just fine. He's still a 'righteous man', at any rate."

"Which makes him just as eligible to Lucifer, if the younger brother doesn't say yes. Like it was supposed to be," Azazel countered, pouring the brandy into the tumblers. Hey, he may be a demon, but until he managed to manipulate some poor saps to break open the cage, he was also the surrogate king of hell. He might snap your neck, beat the shit out of you and make you bleed before you leave, but let it be known that he could be a courteous enough host _before_ all of that went down. "You like brandy, right?" A pause, then a smirk. "Oh wait, angels. Tasting is kind of a bitch for you, isn't it?"

Or not.

Pouring the second tumbler's worth of brandy into his own, he got right back on subject, continuing, "We both already know of the unique circumstances surrounding Rogers. Surely that and smiting a couple of demons aren't the only reasons you came all the way down here to grace me with a visit?"

Seemed Azazel was going to cut to the chase just as quickly as he was. Well, if there was one thing Zachariah could at least _semi-_ respect him for (although never admit it), it was the guy's business skills.

Heaving a small sigh and eyeing the brandy, he finally looked up at Azazel. "Michael has agreed to the proposal," he finally admitted.

Azazel's eyes lit up and a look of borderline glee crossed his features. "Did he now?" he said. He then paused. "He's not planning on letting all of heaven in on these plans this time, is he?"

Zachariah scoffed. "Of course not. After what happened to his last true vessel…" He fell short and shook his head. "We made sure that nobody in heaven remembers what happened the last time. No one who doesn't matter, at least," he informed. "We don't plan to have any renegade angels ruining our hard work the second time around." Giving Azazel a pointed look, he added, "I hope you've got hell in order."

"Now, now. If I didn't then what kind of king would I be?" Azazel paused, then mock-frowned, adding, "No disrespect, of course."

Zachariah snorted. "Of course," he said. Glancing over towards the door, he added, "By the way, we'll be needing that new little pet of yours."

"Too bad. Finders keepers," Azazel replied, smirking.

Zachariah gave him a look. "Oh yeah? Just because we're working together now-"

"You won't be too afraid to mangle me?" Azazel grinned widely, raising his eyebrows. "Do tell what you plan to do with me. Alistair's been experimenting with new techniques."

It was enough to make the angel back down just a smidge, causing him to shake his head and mutter under his breath, "Demons."

"Tell you what: I know who needs my pet. More importantly, I know what he intends to do with it. He's a necessity for events to transpire, especially when we all need to crank up the heat, so I'll hand him over-"

"…But…"

"But for now he stays with us. On loan," Azazel replied, leaning back against the desk. Giving a small shrug, he added, "No need to become so possessive of him. As it stands, he'll practically be working for the both of us anyway. I'm sure your little Trumpet won't be quite so keen on carrying out everything that can be done just as well by his broken shell of a vessel. That fine with you?"

Zachariah eyed him, eyes narrowed with the smile still plastered across his face, although still very clearly annoyed. "Fine. But if he dies-"

"You can bring him back to life," Azazel finished with a casual shrug.

"It would still be very irritating," Zachariah replied almost sulkingly. "Just make sure he stays strong. Stronger, if you can manage it."

"Planning on it-" Azazel replied, grinning with just a hint of victory in his features.

"And don't go possessing him with a demon, either. We'll be watching just to be sure."

"We can use other methods," Azazel assured. Finishing off his brandy, he shook his head. "Well, I know you want to get out of here, so I think this concludes our meeting for now?"

"For now. We'll have a few of our more trusted angels showing up amongst the ranks, of course."

"Of course," Azazel agreed. "You stay out of our way and we'll stay out of yours. And the humans involved…well, we'll just let those poor saps continue to think that they're still running the show." Offering a hand to shake, he added, "From here on…hail HYDRA."

The angel stared at the demon as if he just grew a second head. "…You can't possibly be serious," he said. "You should be careful. You wouldn't be a very effective king of hell if you were to go native, after all."

Azazel chuckled and dropped his hand. "Is that a hint of concern, Zachariah? I'm tickled," he mocked. "Don't worry, I don't have any intention of going native. But you have to admit, it is kind of fun, isn't it?"

At this, the angel rolled his eyes and shook his head, and with the sound of wings fluttering, within the blink of an eye he was gone.

* * *

Author's Note-Yeah, like I said, hella short chapter but meaningful either way. There will be a few of those throughout this fic. Anywho, please drop a review and lemme know what you think. Next chapter is going up Tuesday! And flames will meanwhile be used for torching ghost remains. Until the next update~!


	4. Facing Light in the Flow

Author's Note-So we just time-warped pretty far ahead into the future. So a heads up on how exactly this is going to sync up. To get conditions just right-especially for future events-I'm gonna be dragging the timeline to the MCU back a few years to start syncing well enough with SPN. In other words, Tony becomes Iron Man in 2002 and things pretty much take off from there in the same manner they would originally. Steve has yet to be found, the events of the second Iron Man movie have yet to take place-that all goes down a year after this whole portion. SPN all plays out the way it was seated in the timeline originally: starts in 2005 onward, so this is about a year or so before the events of the pilot episode. Also, this portion of the fic is gonna be a bit more on the long side. It's probably gonna span at least a few chapters or so-there's probably gonna be one or two others like this after this portion. I'll be sure to let you guys know when I'm jumping, of course. Disclaimer, I don't own Supernatural and the MCU, so here's the next best thing.

Alright, so with all of that out of the way, weaving the universes together in three...two...

* * *

-2004-

"Yeah, Markus, whatcha got?" The man paced a bit with a glass of whisky in hand, moving to get some lunch. It'd been a slow day so far, nothing much more than working the phones. At the man's response, the redhead rolled his eyes. "Well of _course_ it's something weird. That's to be expected when you join SHIELD." He paused, listening to the response. "Send someone in, are you nuts? I thought you joined to monitor hunter business from the inside, now you're telling me you're in too deep?"

Finding nothing more than a tiny bit of leftover lasagna, he made a slight face. Well, it was better than nothing. Pulling it out of the fridge, he walked over to pop it into the microwave. "Well that's what happens when you join up with SHIELD," he continued, his voice holding a clear note of irritation to it. "There is no merging them with the business, not unless you wanna blow everyone's big secret. I told you that from the get-go. You can't really hide things from SHIELD, especially once you got their attention. To be honest, it's a wonder if they haven't found out about you already. It's more likely they actually have and just haven't mentioned anything yet."

Quick pause, then a face. "No, you are _not_ that good. Idjit." He paused again, listening for a minute before letting out a sigh, grabbing the lasagna from the beeping microwave and moving to sit back down at the table. "Well, ain't gonna lie to you, that _does_ sound a hell of a lot like one." Settling in his chair and taking a bite of his lunch, he raised his eyebrows, skepticism apparent on his features. "You really think you can?" Pause. "…What do you mean you got a guy? Scratch that. You know, when you said you'd go join SHIELD and look for our kind of thing from the inside, I thought you were nuts but I figured you'd at least be doing it yourself." He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "And you just said they were already breathing down your neck; you really think your word is going to hold up for very long? At this rate they're gonna start thinking _you're_ the leak. I can promise you the director's gonna hear about it in no time, he's sort of a paranoid nut-"

Pause again. The redhead made another face. "Yes, me. Who did you _think_ I was gonna send? Winchester? We need to get on top of this, find it and take care of it before SHIELD does. Preferably _without_ drawing a ton of attention." Another pause, then, "Yeah. Yeah, well just keep that in mind, you owe me. I'll catch a flight over tonight." Hanging up, he sighed and shook his head. "Idjit." Thinking for a moment, he shook his head and dialed another number. "Hey, Mike, you in the area? I'm gonna need someone to man the phones for the next few days…"

* * *

Bobby Singer walked up the steps to the Triskellion, eyeing the giant building as he straightened his tie a little bit and tried _not_ looking anywhere near as unnerved as he actually felt. This was stupid. No, scratch that: this was _beyond_ stupid. Whenever hunters asked his advice, there were few things he really tried to convince them were 'off bounds'. And SHIELD? SHIELD was definitely one of them. So damn Markus and his arrogant idealism and dumbass hopes that he could somehow manage to combine jobs as a SHIELD agent and a hunter and somehow _not_ realize that this could all go catastrophically awry.

…On the other hand-and it was a hand that he _really_ didn't want to admit-but on the other hand, there _was_ an ounce of necessity in _someone_ being willing to take up the job. FBI, CIA, local police? At least there was the hope that they could occasionally be swayed into becoming a contact in case anything in their neck of the woods decided to pop up. Probably because all of those organizations weren't nearly as thorough, and because usually they would all would tend to dismiss the supernatural as crazy. But SHIELD? Occasionally cases tended to overlap and when they did, that had to be taken care of _very_ quickly, lest they start finding out about and interfering with the world of hunters and the supernatural. Besides. Getting a SHIELD agent as a contact was borderline impossible, so a sort of 'Plan B' would be required. But for Markus to get even the faintest glimmer of a shot into the organization without too much suspicion riding his ass, he probably wasn't kidding when he mentioned that he had 'a guy' and assured Bobby of this guy's skills.

So at the moment, really all he could hope for was that this guy was as good as he'd been assured. He'd be relying on the same person to get him in. Heading the rest of the way up the stairs and into the building, he looked around for a quick moment until he finally spied a man in his early thirties, pale skin and brunette hair with sandy blond highlights. Already the wrinkles of age were beginning to form around the man's eyes. "Agent Fischer," he greeted as he headed over to shake the man's hand.

The man turned to him, looking genuinely surprised before moving to return the handshake. "Agent Beckett," he said. "You're here early."

"Flight came in a bit early," Bobby replied with a small, fake but practiced smile. "And you know how much of a workaholic I am."

Fischer chuckled. "Right, right. I keep telling you, Beckett: this is why you need a girlfriend." Giving a small wave to the other two agents he was talking to, he moved to head back to the front doors of the building, gesturing for Bobby to follow. As he did, he moved in a bit close, asking in a low voice, "Seriously, what are you doing here so early? I wasn't expecting you for another hour."

"Your contact got everything sorted out early," Bobby replied. "I wanted to get a decent lay of the land before I dove on into this case. Anything new turn up?"

"Yeah, another dead body and a pile of flesh and teeth. The higher-ups are trying to hide it, but word tends to spread surprisingly fast for such a secretive organization. Sci-Tech's already running an analysis on the pile of skin."

Bobby frowned. "Balls," he murmured. "How could you let them get the skin, Markus?"

"Hey, not my level clearance, _definitely_ not my call," Fischer defended, holding up his hands with a shrug. "I was barely even able to get _near_ it."

"Great. So now we have to take care of the shifter _and_ its remains." Bobby shook his head, somewhat exasperated. "Why couldn't it just decide to go infiltrate some kind of _normal_ group, like the FBI?"

"Shifters are never really known for their mental stability," Fischer replied, shaking his head. "Anyway, hundred bucks says they've already moved the skin to where they have a more comprehensive lab set up. The ones here are pretty good, but…"

"Damn." Bobby shook his head. "Well see what you _can_ find out. If we can't get the evidence, maybe we'll just be lucky and they'll think it's an isolated incident." There _had_ been some weird people cropping up pretty recently, if Markus was to be believed. But generally these people ended up in SHIELD's personal protection. SHIELD called them 'gifted' and 'enhanced', but judging by the description of what these things were, what they could do-kinda almost sounded like monsters to a degree. Still, he gave these gifted a pass whenever Markus reported them in-they didn't really seem like a threat to anyone, at least not yet, and the last thing they needed was to be caught in the act of hunting by their SHIELD guardians. "Until then I'll see what I can do about nabbing the shifter itself."

"Right. You be careful, Bobby."

Bobby shot him a look. "I'm always careful. Follow your own advice," he countered as they parted ways, shaking his head with a roll of his eyes.

* * *

"…So far we haven't been able to pin down the identity of the leak, but all signs point to it being a gifted," Fury informed as footage of an a couple agents chatting in the bathroom played on his office screen. The redhead watched the screen with cool, green eyes, studying the two figures before raising her eyebrows just slightly as one of the agents looked directly into the camera with glowing eyes as the other headed into one of the bathroom stalls. Clearly the glow was more so a camera thing from the looks of it, seeing as how the other agent didn't seem to react to it at all. Seeming to wait for a moment, the staring agent suddenly walked over to the camera, reaching up with a small canister of something before the screen suddenly went black.

The redhead frowned. "The eyes are glowing…is that a video glitch?" she asked, glancing over at Fury.

"Could be. Could be an unknown just as easily," Fury replied. "Personally I would classify it as the latter until we got more information. When we first started the investigation into the vandalism, we found that Agent Martin hadn't been seen since the night this all happened."

"And Agent Jefferson?"

"We detained him briefly to ask some questions about Martin, but he seemed unable to provide answers. Claimed that Martin had already left the bathroom by the time he stepped out of the stall. We _were_ planning on bringing him back in for more questioning, until one of our other agents found him hanging out in the ventilation duct."

"How long?" the redhead murmured, eyes remaining on the screen.

"Autopsy says three days, which leads us to believe that he was killed not long after the cameras were blacked out. Throat was slit, by the way," Fury replied, sitting up a bit in his chair. "We also found a bloody duffle up there with him; it was stuffed with the flesh, teeth and hair of Agent Martin."

"That does sound like a gifted. One who could shed its skin and shapeshift, perhaps?" the woman considered, still eyeing the footage as the screen flipped to pictures of the scene as the discovery was taking place. "Has anyone else gone missing?"

"We haven't seen Agent Greer or Anderson for the past few days," Fury replied. "Neither of them have called in. The likely situation is that either Jefferson was killed simply to avoid there being doubles walking around or the person copied has to be dead in order for the shapeshifting to happen, which means that that the real Martin and possibly Anderson and Greer are probably lying around dead somewhere."

"But probably not here, otherwise the bodies would've been found," the redhead commented. "So they're getting bolder."

"Bolder _and_ careless. Which if that just meant it was easier to catch, that would be fine, except that I've got agents at risk with this thing still out and running around. Not to mention we suspect the culprit is going around leaking our information to the Rising Tide. We tried keeping our find of Agent Jefferson under wraps, but-"

"Word still got around," the redhead finished. "It's probably going to be out looking for another person to shift into, in that case."

"If it hasn't done so already."

The woman studied the pictures on the screen. "Agent Greer was only a level one, wasn't he? New. And Agent Anderson was only a level two. Martin was a level four, Jefferson was a level six."

Fury nodded. "Whoever it is, they're rising up through the ranks, getting access to increasingly classified information."

"The next person they'll probably be after will be a six or over, unless they're desperate for just a quick change of form…" the woman noted. The number of agents became more limited the higher the levels of clearance went, so at least there was that. "Have you checked in with Agent Barton? And Coulson?"

"Both have been out of town for the past couple of weeks working separate cases. They're clear."

The woman nodded, keeping her expression carefully neutral so as not to show the relief she currently felt.

"That said, be on alert when investigating this case. It may very well come after _you_ ," Fury warned.

"Well. Wouldn't that be convenient?" the woman remarked.

"There _is_ one other thing. Could be a potential lead or not, but it doesn't entirely seem to fit this person's MO," the director added, flipping to some security footage of the downstairs lobby. The picture of an ID was next to it, as well as some documents. "Agent William Beckett, level five. Showed up this morning, seemed to clear security, not to mention at least one of our other agents seemed to recognize him."

"Has he been showing suspicious activity?"

"His records seem off. They look fabricated; he seems almost _too_ clean. Not to mention the agent who did recognize him is currently under investigation for similar circumstances," Fury replied. "Could be our guy, maybe not. I'd hand the case over to some other agents if not for our current problem. I'd prefer minimizing the risk if this happens to be our guy. Either way, might be a lead worth following up on."

Natasha Romanov nodded, moving to head out of the office. "I'll be sure to report to you when I find something," she assured on her way out.

* * *

 _Taptaptap_.

Bobby sighed, frowning slightly at the notepad in front of him as his pencil tapped lightly against the table, a cup of black coffee nearby. The Triskellion's café was pretty busy at about this time-occasionally he would sit up, pretend to stretch, survey his surroundings to make sure nobody was spying on him. At the same time, this was a good place to overhear conversations, pick up on any potential gossip about the case. People were pretty tight-lipped around here and he had to be careful as hell-more careful than usual. He wanted to get whatever info he could freehand before having to test any of the clearance beyond entry that Markus's 'guy' had faked for him.

But so far? Wasn't working out so well for him. He'd caught snatches of other conversations, some of which he _probably_ shouldn't have been overhearing, but most of it was really just dribble. But at least his time wasn't fully wasted: it gave him a chance to sit down and survey all of whatever little info Markus had been able to pass along to him, and the Triskellion café could at least make a mean cup of coffee.

But man, why'd it have to be a shifter? In a crowded, secretive building like this, the monster could be hiding anywhere as anyone-and that was assuming they didn't decide to jump base.

"Excuse me, sir?"

A female voice snapped him out of his studies, and he looked up to see a redhead with long straight hair and a blue blazer, a white blouse and black slacks, green eyes staring down at him. One hand was on the chair across from him, the other holding a cup of coffee. "Sorry, I normally don't do this, but I sort of got here during the rush…" She chuckled sheepishly. "Is this seat taken?"

Bobby blinked, eyeing her for a moment before shrugging and gesturing to the seat in front of him. "It's a free country," he replied. Crap. Crap crap crap crap. He thought he'd been keeping a pretty good eye out for anyone spying up until now, and c'mon, this was the oldest trick in the book. On the other hand, the café _had_ gotten pretty damn crowded. But spy or not, maybe it wasn't a total loss? If he just made sure to approach this delicately enough, not get tied up in his own story…

Taking a seat, the woman seemed to be checking her phone for a moment before looking up at him with a smile. "I don't think I've seen you around here, Agent…?"

"Beckett. Will Beckett," Bobby replied, closing the notebook and sticking it into an inner pocket of his jacket. "Been out on business, just got back in. I don't believe we've met, Agent…?"

"Monroe. But please, Marie works fine." The woman flashed him a smile as she put away her phone and picked up her coffee. "I take it you don't work in Comms…?"

"Field agent, actually," Bobby replied smoothly. If this was a spy specifically on his case-and again, he really wouldn't be too surprised if she was, considering he was kind of at spy headquarters-she was a pretty damn good one. He'd been hunting for a long time, creating fake identities and lying-that was pretty much his cup of tea. If this was an act, hers was pretty much flawless considering he certainly wasn't picking up on any real tells.

So now it all came down to who could out-act the other and get the most amount of information?

Well he wasn't about to get too cocky about it.

"Seems like a lot's been going on around here since I left. To tell the truth, actually, I'm still trying to catch up. One of my friends said a couple murders happened right here in the Triskellion the other night?" he continued.

Marie frowned slightly. "That's what they've been saying," she confessed. "The upper levels are trying to keep the case quiet, but the finding of the body wasn't so much. Now everyone's whispering about it."

"They got any ideas as to what might've happened?"

Marie shook her head, taking a sip of her coffee. "If they do, they're classified." She smiled slightly, sitting back. "Of course."

Bobby returned the smile. "Of course," he repeated. "Well. What's _your_ opinion on the matter? If you don't mind my asking."

Marie blinked, frowning slightly in thought. "Well…" she said. "It really could be any number of things. Could be a personal vendetta, could be a traitor. A double-agent, perhaps…? Although, I'll be honest, I'm actually a bit worried…" Her eyes flickered around at their surroundings for a moment, as if to check if anyone might've been listening to their conversation-and he followed in suit-before she set her coffee down and leaned forward a bit, her voice lowering. "My coworker, Agent Anderson? He hasn't shown up to work in nearly a week. You don't think anything could've happened to him, do you?"

Bobby noted the worry in her face-real or fake?-but flashed her a reassuring smile anyways. "Flu's been going around this time of year. I'm sure he's just fine." But in the meantime he made sure to file this little factoid away in the back of his head. He'd known about Agent Greer but this Anderson guy… "This coworker of yours-he work in Comms too?"

"He does. Kind of a new guy, only a level two. I don't think many people really know him yet, so I doubt anyone's really checked up on him," Marie replied, staring down at her coffee for a few moments before looking back up at him, as if to check his reaction.

"You seem pretty worried about him for a new guy," Bobby pointed out, arching an eyebrow.

Marie chuckled softly. "I guess I'm just that kind of girl," she replied smoothly, voice soft. "To be honest, I wouldn't mind getting to know him a bit better. Everyone around here could use a friend." Her light smile faded into a small frown. "And besides…if something did happen to him, that's another one of us who could've become a victim of this nutjob."

Bobby eyed her for a moment. Well, she _seemed_ convincing enough, but he wasn't entirely buying it. He couldn't really _afford_ to buy much of anything from anyone around here, he had to be pretty damn careful considering where he was and what all he was dealing with-on both the front of a shifter and of SHIELD. So finally he settled on neutral response-safest for now, best thing to go on at the moment.

"I'm sure he'll get a call soon enough for missing too much work," Bobby replied, giving a slight shrug and taking another sip of his coffee.

But he couldn't just continue to play neutral forever. Staying on the defensive was safe, maybe, but unwise in the long run. The longer he dallied around here, the harder he made it for himself in getting information, not to mention the higher the risk got at blowing his cover. He wanted to ask more, but…how the hell would he be able to do that casually with someone he was almost certain was already suspicious of him?

Hm, daring move out of left field: time to turn the tables.

"You worried?"

Marie looked back up at him, blinking a few times with surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You worried? For yourself, I mean-about this killer?"

The woman thought for just a moment before confessing carefully, "Whoever did it _did_ manage to kill a couple of higher-ranking agents right here in the Triskellion. And I'm not exactly a field operative…" Smiling slightly, she added, "Of course, that said, I'm not exactly helpless either, none of us are."

"Of course," Bobby agreed understandingly.

"And we all have some awareness of what's happened, at least, so the heads-up definitely helps…" She shrugged, sitting back a bit. "I guess I have some faith that whoever did it will be caught before he or she can manage to kill again."

Bobby smiled. "Well, here's hoping," he agreed amiably, finishing up the rest of his coffee. Pushing back his chair, he moved to his feet and leaned over to toss his empty cup into the trash can nearby. "Nice talking with you, Marie."

Marie smiled up at him. "You too," she replied, watching as he headed off. By the time he was out of sight, her smile faded to a more serious look and she moved to her feet and prepared to follow-

The scrape of the chair behind her-

"Oh!" a woman's voice exclaimed.

The redhead's hand reached out instinctively, quickly moving to grab the arm of the blond woman behind her. Said woman was now standing stiffly, still holding a paper cup although now covered in hot tea, a look of shock and slight pain and embarrassment on her face-but at least now she was stable. The blond looked back at the redhead, moving more properly to her feet. "I am so sorry," the blond muttered, shaking her head as she pushed the chair she'd tripped on closer to the table. "I don't know what in the world is wrong with me today- None of that got on you, did it?"

The redhead shook her head. "No," she replied. Green eyes shifting to the woman's heels, she added, "Try wearing more sensible shoes next time." As the blond rambled on, she tuned it out and looked back in the direction the man had disappeared in. But now? Nothing. He'd faded back into the crowd pretty fast.

 _Damn…_

Shaking her head, she moved away from the scene, abandoning the woman to head in the same direction. She wasn't sure if this was the culprit for the leak and the murders or not-but he was definitely suspicious. She could tell that this certainly wasn't his first ballgame, but he wasn't about to shake off the Black Widow that easily.

He wouldn't be out of her sights for long.

* * *

Author's Note-Alrighty, I'll be sure to have the next chapter up next Tuesday. Please leave a review and let me know what you think, the encouragement is really much appreciated. Flames will be used for burning hex bags. Until the next update~!


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